Chapter 138
Chapter 138
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: Erased Name (1)
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Based on Diana's map—which depicted only the northern part of the Southwest Diocese—the origin of the plague was positioned relatively far to the right.
This meant the plague threatened three directions.
It could head north to menace the West Diocese, spread northeast into the Central Diocese, or expand eastward to become a recurrence of the old Southern Great Plague.
If it were a natural plague, the three regions could simply pool their strength to handle it. But with evidence of human interference discovered, standard measures alone wouldn't suffice against someone deliberately spreading the disease.
"In that sense, identifying the movement path is a truly major breakthrough."
Diana spoke in a slightly brighter tone.
"The difference between preparing in advance or not is enormous."
"Are we sure we've got it right? What if this is part of the culprit's deception too...?"
"I don't think so."
Galen reassured the somewhat worried Lilia. Diana nodded in agreement with him.
"The traces of blood magic are top-secret information whose very existence is classified. Only His Holiness the Pope, the Archbishops, and—exceptionally—the leaders of the paladin orders dispatched to plague zones know about them. There are very few people who can even detect the traces in the first place, so leaks are unlikely."
"Ah, so they don't know we know, either?"
"Yes. Even if the mage knows traces remain on their own spells, the odds they've realized we noticed are extremely low."
"And if they'd left them intentionally, they wouldn't have done it this way. They'd scatter them to make the path impossible to guess, not draw a straight line handing us a clue to track."
Galen added to bolster the point.
"Besides, there's no way the culprit could know Lilia and I have the ability to detect those traces. That would make them omniscient. I don't think the culprit's that clever."
"Brother's right!"
Lilia clenched her fist tightly.
"We'll smash the back of their head hard while they're clueless!"
"I'd love to do exactly that."
Galen smiled at her before turning to Diana.
"But grasping the 'path so far' differs from predicting the 'path ahead.' Monitoring the most likely spots doesn't guarantee they'll come that way. You okay with that?"
"Don't worry about it. The circumstances Brother uncovered are persuasive enough to mobilize the Church."
Diana declared confidently.
"Whether the culprit's alone or backed by powerful allies, they won't escape the eyes we set on them once we're committed."
A group of traveling merchants arrived at a small village of fewer than fifty households around sunset.
"You want to trade?"
"If the village chief permits it."
The squinting-eyed man, leader of the merchants, grinned obsequiously.
The chief tilted his head. His ordinary, aged, cloudy eyes held considerable wisdom from years lived.
Such a tiny village had no proper market, so most goods were traded via visiting merchants.
But for the same reason, there were no remarkable goods to offer, so the merchants held no special allure.
In short, only the usual merchants came. New faces were rare.
"We already traded with others around early winter, so we don't have much left for you..."
"We're not expecting much. We just thought you might need something..."
"Is that really all?"
"...If it's not too much trouble, we'd like to borrow the open field outside the village for one night."
So that's their angle, the chief thought, finally nodding.
With hardly any outsiders passing through, there were no inns. He could house one or two, but not this many.
Even so, considering threats like wild beasts, camping inside the village fence was safer. That must be why they asked.
"Hm, if you won't cause trouble."
"We won't set foot inside the village proper."
As he said this, the squinting man casually pulled out a pouch.
The chief's dim eyes lit up at that. The pouch held a generous gleam of silver.
Pleased by the perceptive merchant, the chief pocketed it.
"Stay as long as you need."
"Thank you so much."
The squinting man beamed. His eyes stayed narrow.
Before parting after their business, they chatted idly. To the chief, it was quite important—news of the wider world came this way.
"I hear the plague's bad out there."
"Oh, even you know, Chief?"
"I'm old, not deaf. Travelers passing through have definitely increased lately."
"Must be all the refugees. We're barely trading ourselves, just escaping."
"Anyone in your group...?"
"No patients. Really. If one had it, the whole caravan would be down."
"True, it's no ordinary illness. They say half who catch it die."
"Truth is, nowhere's truly safe anymore."
"...That bad? We're not far from Kairoan."
"That's how fast it's advancing. Might even cross Kairoan into the West."
"Th-the Church will step in before then."
"Maybe. But seven years ago, a great plague hit south of here too... Even the Church can't stop every natural disaster, right?"
"...On second thought, maybe we don't need to trade. Safer that way. Keep your promise."
"Yes. We'll stay only in the field you designate."
Frightened by the sudden dread, the chief briefly regretted accepting, but greed overrode caution.
He knew enough: even without medical knowledge, being near plague victims meant catching it too.
Conversely, keep them away, and you're safe? House them in the corner for one night and send them off—no issue.
How foolish.
Of course, even a wise refusal wouldn't have changed the outcome, so no point dwelling.
The merchants—who'd stayed obediently out of sight, resting as promised—and their mercenary guards revealed their true colors after dark.
"Everyone ready?"
"Yes!"
"Begin."
At the squinting man's order, his subordinates scattered in all directions.
No one carried torches; faint moonlight sufficed. Their stealthy, swift movements in the dark screamed neither merchant nor mercenary.
The man leisurely headed toward the village center.
While residents noticed nothing, his men took positions encircling the outskirts.
Charr-ring— Charr-ring—
Soon, an eerie sound arose.
Like small bells or chimes ringing in unison.
At first, it evoked a quaint, atmospheric charm.
Though soft in volume, the bizarrely far-carrying sound blanketed the entire village, layering and overlapping.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah!"
"Huuuh, huuuh, huuuh."
Wails mixed in from all sides.
Villagers clutched their heads or staggered out like drunks. The cries came from their mouths.
Over a hundred, men, women, elderly, children alike, shuffled as if entranced. Eyes unfocused, drool dribbling.
They headed to the central square.
The squinting man watched the chilling scene impassively.
Charr-ring— Charr-ring—
It was his creation from the start—no reason for fear.
Each shake of the mysterious, jingling-adorned object piled the sound higher.
The force binding the villagers' minds grew ever firmer.
A satisfied smile curved the man's lips as he oversaw the smooth ritual. Too easy.
Then—
Whoosh!
Flames suddenly illuminated the pitch-black village.
Fire erupted from the tallest building atop the gentle hill—the church.
"...?"
All villagers should be under control. Did his men botch something? But without pre-pouring oil, how could it blaze like that?
As he pondered, a streak of light shot skyward into his view.
Whiiish!
A flare arrow, the signaling kind.
"..."
The man's narrow eyes narrowed further.
Fire could be accidental, but his men shooting flares? Madness.
Looking closer, the burning building's shape was familiar: sharply peaked roof. A church.
Such a small village might have one or two deacons dispatched from a nearby city at best.
A cleric resisting the chimes in desperation? As if aid would come to this remote spot. That's why he'd chosen it for the ritual.
"Go check it out."
"Kill them?"
"Leave their mouths intact."
"Yes, sir."
He expected quick compliance.
Clang! Clang-clang! Clang!
Resistance fiercer than anticipated.
No mere deacon—whose role was purification and vigor buffs—could muster that.
Something was off. Needed proper confirmation.
By now, no villagers could escape. As he prepared to disband the pointless encirclement and send more men to the church—
Thud-thud-thud—
A faint rumble caught his ear. Amid the chimes sweet to him, he'd detected extraneous noise like clashing steel.
He turned toward the impossible sound at this hour, this place.
His brow twitched.
A swiftly approaching light far off.
Not torch flame.
Bright golden. The platinum radiance was the color he loathed most.
Was that the harbinger of ill omen? Perhaps overreacting, but he trusted his instincts.
"All hands, assemble."
Not loud, yet his voice pierced the chimes, resounding clearly across the village.
As subordinates converged on the square—
"Gaaah!"
A clear scream from one.
Holy light had pierced the village entrance, instantly felling the man there.
Soon, the cleric's identity entered the squinting man's sight.
Utterly white.
A woman charging on a white steed, clad in pristine robes, platinum hair whipping, platinum eyes blazing.
Papapapap!
Radiant spears ignited the darkness from her hand.
Screeeeech!
A single beam from Lilia pierced space itself.
The elegant teahouse just beyond Kairoan's south gate.
From its second-floor window overlooking the road and gate, Galen leisurely enjoyed afternoon tea.
A rare time truly alone.
'...Not sure if I'm enjoying it.'
Had he and Lilia been apart for days like this since her pilgrimage began?
Without her constant chatter, it felt profoundly empty.
But holding back her eager help for the Church just for company would be conscienceless.
Galen wasn't idling either.
He was the last bastion.
If the near-certain northward culprit slipped the Church's net, they'd target Kairoan inevitably.
He waited here for that worst case.
He could join the pursuit anytime once the culprit was spotted.
For now, it was lounging—but no need to tense up prematurely.
"Lord Galen."
A young man approached naturally as Galen gazed idly at the street.
Like a servant reporting to his master, he whispered close.
"We've spotted the trail of those being tracked."
"Location?"
"A village about two hours by horse."
"I'll head out now."
"Horses are ready."
Two hours galloping would ache, but endure.
Leaving now, he'd reunite with Lilia by sunset.
"Then—"
As Galen rose, he froze.
"What's wrong?"
Ignoring the youth, Galen turned.
His gaze locked on a carriage passing through the gate.
Utterly ordinary. Window open, revealing a plain middle-aged man inside.
Galen beckoned the youth, murmuring.
"See that carriage passing below? Reddish-brown roof."
"Pardon? Oh, yes."
"Tail it."
"Yes?"
"Delay departure. Chase now. Don't get spotted."
"U-understood!"
Sensing urgency in Galen's tone, the youth dashed down the stairs.
Galen glanced at the carriage once more and stood.
The sensory field of Water Flow Manipulation quietly resonated.